If you've more or less made it in Wigan you buy a big fuck off house on Wigan Lane. If you've really made it you buy a mansion in Parbold just outside Wigan. Mr Soft had almost made it and home for him was at the good end of Wigan Lane. He was a regular in the Boar's Head pub where he would nod to locals and talk about golf and cars. Every inch the successful businessman. They thought he worked "in computers" and that suited him fine. Mrs Soft knew half the truth. Nobody else knew anything.
Mrs Soft was a doll, a diamond. Mr Soft knew that. He had never cheated on her and she had never cheated on him and never would. She lived for the kids.
She dropped him at the station just in time to catch the 7.34 am train to London Euston. He'd be back tomorrow and she'd meet him off the 9.10 pm train tomorrow. They kiss, he buys The Guardian and the latest issue of Arena and settles down, first class naturally for the journey to London. He certainly looks the part. Paul Smith suit, polished brogues and Burberry raincoat. Every inch the successful businessman.
At Euston he hops on the Northern Line two stops to The Angel meets Raymond, does the deal, checks in to the Ibis Hotel at Euston drops his bag, deposits the crack in the hotel safe and does what he always does in London - shops.
By Six he's bought toys from Hamleys for the kids, a silk scarf from Hermes for the wife and a tie from Liberty for him self. Evening meal is taken at an Indian restaurant around the corner from the hotel where the maitre d' greets him like a long lost friend. The food is sumptuous and he retires to bed at just gone ten.
A splendid night's sleep is broken by a nine o'clock alarm call, a continental breakfast, a leisurely tube journey via the Victoria Line to Brixton to meet Stephen. The deal is done and Mr Soft is back at the hotel by eleven. A job well done. He checks out, puts the crack and the recently acquired Gruber & Litvak pistol in his bag and spends the day walking around London.
It's one of those wonderful early Spring days where the sun shines and the city looks beautiful. Mr Soft thinks that he could not live in London but he certainly admires the place. A wonderful fucking city he once told Mrs Soft. She hates the place. As he is getting the six thirty back to Wigan he decides on a light late lunch at Bar Italia in Soho followed by a drink at a newish looking bar around the corner. He orders a large vodka and lemon, sits at the bar, makes small conversation with the attractive blonde fortysomething lady behind the bar and gets an erection as she reveals her cleavage as she bends over to pick a bottle up. She catches him looking and flashes him a " do you like what you see smile" walks to the other end of the bar and brushes herself up against the young black girl who's waiting the tables. The setting sun catches the girl's gold tooth as she kisses the older woman on the mouth.
Mr Soft picks up his bag, puts his raincoat over his bar, says his farewells, takes a mental note of the bar's name and enjoys the mile and a half walk back to Euston railway station.
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